


I lounge around in my lingerie (I wanna be prepared for you just in case)

by objectlesson



Category: Cars (Movies)
Genre: 5 Times, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Jockstraps, Lace Panties, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Sugar Daddy Doc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-07 03:28:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18612184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/objectlesson/pseuds/objectlesson
Summary: Five times Doc buys Lightning underwear and one time Lightning buys it for himself.





	I lounge around in my lingerie (I wanna be prepared for you just in case)

**Author's Note:**

> This is ENTIRELY Isabelle's fault, we got talking about Lightning in panties and uh this whole story just fell out of me in two days, oops. She is my biggest enabler :))))) So the rest of you just have to endure whatever wild shit she encourages me to write about. I love you Kachow Lesbians GC. <3

1\. 

Doc is _staring_ at Lightning while he makes breakfast, eyes lingering more than usual. Lightning feels sort of pretty about it initially, as he tears out quarter sized holes in the middle of two slices of bread, arranging them on the hot skillet and arching his back deliberately, _very_ aware of Doc’s eyes scalding into him from where he sits at the kitchen table with his Sunday paper. 

It goes on long enough without comment, though, that he starts to get squirmy. “What’re you looking at, old man?” he asks as he cracks one egg into the bread-holes. Egg-in-the-Hole is one of the only culinary feats he’s relentlessly confident about, so they have it a lot, on the weekends when Lightning doesn't have to wake up early for training. “Can feel those blue eyes.” 

“Just thinking,” Doc says, folding the paper and taking a thoughtful sip of coffee. “Wondering, I guess.” 

“Well, wondering about _what?”_ Lightning says, flipping each piece of bread carefully. They slide back onto the sizzling butter and little specks of it splatter out onto his bare stomach, which makes him wince. 

“For one, why you never cook with a shirt on,” Doc mumbles, standing up, walking over, and settling behind Lightning. He rests his chin on his shoulder and spreads one broad hand over the tender, exposed skin around his navel, like he’s protecting it. “Also, why the _hell_ you have all those big NASCARbucks to buy whatever you damn well please, and you _still_ have Walmart underwear I remember from the first time I fucked you.” 

He hooks his finger into the waistband of the aforementioned Walmart underwear and snaps it against Lightning’s hip, making him yelp. He leans back, tilting his head into the familiar solidity of Doc’s shoulder, warm and perfect. “You don’t _like_ being reminded of the first time we fucked?” he asks slyly, rocking his ass back and forth, teasing Doc through his robe with it. He doesn't actually have an answer, really, for why he’s never bought better underwear, save for the fact he figures there’s not much of a difference between fancy underwear and less fancy underwear and there are cooler, more important thing to spend money on. 

“Course I do,” Doc tells him, kissing his neck before pushing away, because it’s _never_ that easy to flirt Doc into distraction. “Love it. But back then, I thought, _why_ does this boy have holes in his briefs? And now, two years later I think: _really_ now, _why_ does this _rich_ boy rolling in prize money on a _paid team_ have holes in his briefs?” 

“They’re comfy?” Lightning tries, turning the burner off because it felt so good to have Doc touching him while he cooked he almost let everything burn. “They’re not _that_ bad, like at least I _clean_ them.” 

“Baby,” Doc grumbles, sliding his hand _into_ Lightning’s underwear through a hole between the waistband and the worn-thin cotton ass part of them to grip a cheek. “They’re barely staying on you. There’s more hole than fabric, I could rip them right off you without even _trying.”_

“You’re _welcome_ to,” Lightning quips, sliding Doc’s Egg-in-the-Hole onto a clean plate alongside a hash brown and a dollop of ketchup. He’s all self-conscious, now, looking down at his underwear and noticing how _truly_ translucent the fabric has become from over-washing, how his pubes poke out the mess of little holes near the Y front. “But ok, whatever. You have a point. I’ll pick some up at Walmart next time we take a trip out of town.” 

Doc must know it’s a hollow promise, though, because the next day when he comes back from running errands, he tosses a plastic package at Lightning, who is sitting on the couch watching TV in one of his apparently criminal pairs of underwear. “Got those for you,” Doc announces, eyebrow raised. “Nice and cheap, just how you like them, apparently.”

Lightning squints, examining the package. A brand new 5-Pack of Fruit of the Loom boxer briefs. “Aw, thanks. I guess I’ll throw away the pair you first fucked me in, then.” 

Doc leans in, presses a slow, heavy kiss to Lightning’s lips that makes his skin tingle, his mind buzz, so much so he forgets what he was even saying, whatever plan he was hatching up. “No, you won’t,” Doc says gently, thumbing the cut of his cheekbone as he pulls away. “Keep those.” 

Lightning smiles smugly. 

2\. 

He also wears the new fruit of the looms into the _fucking_ ground.

Doc was right. Having holes in your underwear is a drag. Lightning just didn’t _know,_ because he’d been suffering for so many years he forgot how _nice_ it was to have underwear which actually fit him, which didn’t ride up or fall down or threaten to rip every time he pulled them on. There _is_ a difference between fancy underwear and not fancy underwear, or at least new underwear and old underwear, and he feels like a fool for living so long in willful ignorance to this simple fact of life. 

However, the new pairs are similarly cheap, so in only a few washes they’re starting to fray and get holes near the seams, the elastic wearing out. Maybe he uses too much laundry detergent, or maybe in his haste to kick out of his clothes when he's stripping down to get in bed ends up like, _damaging_ them or something. He’s not sure. He just knows that sooner than he’d like to admit, new Fruit of the Looms aren’t quite so new anymore. 

They’re at the _gym_ when Doc chooses to point it out. “M’getting an eyeful here, kid,” he says gruffly. They’re sitting on a mat stretching out, Lightning draped over a foam roller, thighs spread lazily. 

“What, up the leg of my shorts?” he announces, head lolling where its resting on his arm so he can narrow his eye on Doc. “M’wearing _underwear,_ it shouldn’t be _too_ scandalous. Unless your imagination is getting away with you,” he adds, waggling his eyebrows. 

Doc discreetly adjusts the leg of his shorts to cover, shaking his head. “Maybe if those _underwear_ didn’t have holes,” he says, giving Lightning a thorough once over that makes his stomach drop. He ran on the treadmill for awhile so his shirt is soaked through in some places, and Doc’s gaze _lingers_ there, slow and sweet and hungry. It’s _crazy,_ no matter how gross Lightning _thinks_ he looks or how sweaty or flushed or messed up he feels, Doc _still_ looks at him the same: like he would undress him right here, where he lies, and have his way with him if he could. Like he thinks he’s _beautiful,_ good enough to eat _._ It’s overwhelming, actually, when they're somewhere like the gym. “How in the hell do you wear clothes out so quick, boy?” Doc asks, breaking Lightning’s reverie. 

“I feel like _you_ wore these out,” Lightning jokes. “Taking them off so—”

“Oh, stop,” Doc growls, standing up slow and steady, using the ballet-barre over the stretching mat to help. “It’s just because they’re cheap. Let me buy you something better, next time.” 

Lightning thinks about it, about how he should _buy himself_ underwear, he _has_ the money. But idea of Doc doing it makes him feel weird and floaty in a good way, taken care of. Like when he falls asleep shotgun while Doc drives, head against the window, cool and steady while the road slices on ahead of them. “Yeah, ok. There’s a department store off the Interstate on the way back to Radiator Springs,” he suggests. “We can go shopping.” 

An hour or so later, he has several pairs of new, silky, _not_ Fruit of the Loom briefs in a a variety of different colors. He’s not sure why, but he sort of wants to _cry_ over it. Something about the way Doc so carefully thumbed though all the options, reading about the material, unboxing some so he could test the elasticity, hold them up to Lightning’s waist before thoughtfully murmuring, “Hm, feel like these would be a little big,” before picking out the next smaller size, feels _so_ deeply comforting. _Pacifying._

That night he sleeps so _well,_ curled up against Doc’s chest and under the reliable weight of his arm, wearing nothing but a new pair of red boxer briefs that are _super_ silky soft and have _no_ holes at all. 

3\. 

One of the best things about being Doc’s boy is that half the time, Lightning never has to put words to what he's feeling because Doc is so observant and attentive he _notices_ patterns and accommodates them before Lightning can even think of how to bring his messy-ass feelings up. 

For example, instead of Lighting having to tell Doc _For some reason, I_ really _really like it when you buy me underwear? It turns me on and also makes me feel safe like a kid, but not in a weird way,_ Doc just _notices._ He’ll smooth his palm over Lightning’s ass when he’s wearing a new pair, nuzzle into his hair as he squirms and preens. “Look at you, so pretty,” he'll murmur, or, “Showin’ off for me in the stuff I got you?” as he squeezes him through the cotton, firm and suggestive. He _knows_ somehow, smirks slow and complacent at the way Lightning whimpers every time he draws attention to the new underwear. And that just makes it feel _better,_ that Lightning doesn’t need to explain why he likes it because Doc _sees_ and likes it _too._ He can just settle into the feeling instead of overanalyzing why it’s happening in the first place. 

Best of all, Doc starts to buy him things without preamble. 

Usually underwear, but sometimes it’ll be a package of the simple white ribbed tank tops Lightning likes to wear under his racing uniform, or a nice tee-shirt with a V neck and that fake-vintage, super-soft feel that always makes Lighting want to curl up and purr like a cat. Doc knows exactly what he likes and whenever he sees things on sale which fit the bill, he picks them up. Every time, Lightning feels weak with a very particular and hard to pin down sort of gratitude, so _overwhelmed_ Doc thinks about him so much and _takes_ care of him so good he wants to fell to his knees. 

So he does, a lot. Which is fine because he very much likes being there, Doc’s strong, broad fingers sifting through his hair, guiding him where he wants him, fucking his mouth good and hard but always pulling out to check in before he comes, like Lightning _hasn’t_ asked to be choked on it one hundred times prior. It’s nice, though, because he feels taken care of like _this,_ too. 

He hasn’t quite gotten usedto it yet, that unprompted gifts are a part of their dynamic, now. His heart always leaps a bit when he comes home and Doc mumbles _Got something for you_ without looking up from his paper or dinner or whatever. Or the time during the first week of March, when he wakes up late some morning Doc went out stupidly early to check on the clinic, and finds a package and a hand-written note on the top of the dresser. 

_They’re only covered in hearts because they were discounted from Valentines day. don’t get sentimental, kid. Yours—- Doc_ the post-it says, stuck onto a three-pack of very silky boxers. One is red, the other is pink, ad the third is black with a candy heart print all over it. They’re weirdly girly and Lightning sort of loves that about them, immediately shucking the sweatpants he was sleeping in in favor of slipping on a pair. 

They’re _decidedly_ baby-pink, the least manly color he can think of, and as he backs up onto the bed with his knees suddenly weak, he examines the foreign shade against his skin, stomach in delighted, confused knots. It feels like he’s _never_ worn pink before, somehow. Like he’s _never_ seen this particular shade against the red-gold of his leg hair and his pale thigh-skin ever before. He’s _fascinated_ by it, so much so there’s a low, curling heat deep in his gut and his dick twitches against the store-crisp, never-washed material. 

Doc comes home when he has his hand fisted down the front of them, close enough to finishing he doesn’t even _think_ about stopping even after getting walked in on. “Jesus, boy. That color is so pretty on you,” Doc breathes automatically, taking his jacket off in this slow, deliberate way that always makes Lightning dizzy. 

He blinks back stars, spreads his thighs wider and takes his trembling hand out so Doc can see his cock straining against the soft pink cotton. “Yeah? You think?” 

Doc laughs a dry, almost sad laugh as he clambers down slow and careful to his knees at the foot of the bed. “Yeah,” he says, dragging Lightning to the edge with his hands splayed on the underside of his thighs. “I think. I _know._ Christ, you got my mouth watering,” he murmurs, pressing a series of rough, teasing kisses up the inside of Lightning’s thigh. “So perfect.” 

“Love wearing the stuff you buy me,” Lightning admits in a messy slur as he gets his cock out through the slit in the boxers, stroking it, vision hazy at the way the red skin looks against that sweet pink. “ _Fuck._ Makes me so hard.” 

“Seeing you in it makes _me_ hard,” Doc tells him, pushing Lightning’s hands down on either side of his hips, pinning them there, leaving his cock bobbing for a singular blazing moment before he swallows it down. Lightning gasps, fists in the sheets and holds on while Doc sucks him down, kneads his thighs, groaning around him. It’s only a minute or so before he comes, stomach tied up and his vision a white-out. 

Doc keeps sucking him long after he's finished, relentlessly milking his spent cock, pressing kisses to it, licking into his pubes, face buried in pink fabric. “Do you buy me in things you want to like. See me in?” Lightning muses, genuinely wondering for the first time as he comes down, fingers gentle and curious at the back of Doc’s neck. 

He pulls off, lips wet under the still-neat line of his salt and pepper mustache. “I—I don't know. Not consciously,” he says then, ducking down to press one last, lingering kiss to the crown of Lightning’s cock, making him hiss at the nervy sensation of it. “I just get what makes the most sense. But I can make an effort to look for things I think would look good on you, though, if you like the idea of that.” 

“Oh _god,”_ Lightning murmurs, eyes fluttering closed the second he witnesses the gutting crystal blue of Doc’s gaze. It’s always like that, after an orgasm. Fucking _devastating._ “Yeah, I’d like that.” 

4\. 

So it goes, Lightning McQueen learns what a Jockstrap is. 

Doc actually _gift-wraps_ this one, tucks three pairs into a tunnel of tissue paper and folds that into a box with a _ribbon._ It’s months before Lightning’s birthday, so he just stares after Doc drops it into his lap, standing there with his arms crossed expectantly. “Well. Go on, open it.” 

Lighting sets his bottle of beer down, clears his throat. “What’s the occasion?” 

“I have a gorgeous boy, and I like to spoil him at least half as much as he likes to be spoiled,” Doc says evenly, making Lightning’s stomach drop so suddenly he would have stumbled, if he were standing. He blushes instead, guts twisting up. 

“Oh yeah?” he says, untying the ribbon, that _feeling_ rushing over him like a wave, safe and warm and comforting and thrilling all at once. He was _going_ so say something else but the words evaporate right out of his throat, because as he removes the lid of the box, he _remembers_ what he told Doc only a few days ago, after he’d come. That he’d _like_ if Doc bought him things he wanted to see him in, specifically. So _this,_ whatever it is, _is not_ a gift under the guise of necessity, or because something was on sale. It’s something Doc _wants_ to see, something he noticed out in the world and _imagined_ on Lightning’s body. _Fuck._ It rips through him, makes him shiver, his mouth dry. He unfolds the tissue paper with trembling fingers, and holds it up. 

“Is this…a _thong?”_ he chokes out, cheeks _immediately_ on fire, blazing even _hotter_ the second Doc erupts into laugher. 

“No, god. It’s a jockstrap,” he says matter of factly, helping Lightning hold it up, which provides little clarity. Whatever it is, it’s _strappy_ and white, more elastic than cotton, complicated in a way that makes’s Lightning’s heart pound. It’s gonna be too confusing for him to get on himself, Doc is gonna have to _help him,_ and that dual excitement and humiliation has him _sweating,_ squirming on the couch. “Shit, baby. You’ve never seem one before. I can tell,” Doc murmurs, taking it from him and holding it up properly, shaking his head in barely concealed amusement. “It’s like assless chaps, minus the chaps,” he explains, like that makes any fucking sense. 

“There’s no—ass?” Lightning observes, head cocked. “Just a little—sling. For my cock.” 

“Mhm,” Doc says, tossing it back to him. “So I can reach down the back of your jeans whenever I want and touch you just how I like. Feel all of you.” he deadpans, and Lightning is so suddenly boneless he has to slide down the couch, ball the underwear up in his palm. Doc just _does stuff like this_ to him, _says_ shit that makes him crazier than half the _actual_ sex in his life has made him. 

“Fuck,” he murmurs weakly, downing the rest of his beer. “You want me to try it on for you?” 

“Yeah, go on, baby boy,” Doc murmurs, leaning in to kiss Lightning patronizingly on the head. “Show me how pretty you look in those.” 

It turns out they're not _just_ pretty, but bizarrely and shockingly _functional._ Lightning can _wear them_ , for example, while Doc bends him over the arm of the couch and eats him out. His cock is contained as he humps whatever’s under him in a desperate rage, back arched, mouth open and panting as he backs up against the slick heat of Doc’s mouth. Then, when he comes, _it’s into the underwear,_ and not all over the fancy Italian leather. A brilliant invention, he thinks while spread out and spent, eyes fluttering closed as Doc thumbs into his spit slick crack tenderly, rubbing insistent circles over his hole. “Look gorgeous right now,” he says, swatting him gently so his ass undulates, trapped between straps of elastic. “Wrecked for me.” 

“Jesus,” Lightning whines, rolling over and sliding down onto the couch in a mess of limbs. Doc bears down onto him, rubs his face into the wet cotton over his cock, smelling him through it, forcing a wincing gasp from his lips. “My ass was just. It was just. Out there, I guess. Why do these even exist? If not for like, gay sex stuff.” 

Doc laughs, breath tickling, against Lightning’s thigh. “I dunno,” he says. “I’ve only ever seen them in porn. “ 

And Lightning _likes_ that, bringing porn to life for Doc, turning too many unfair years of loneliness and masturbation into a flesh and blood reality. He pulls him up into a kiss, fumbles with his belt so he can find heat with hungry fingers. 

5\. 

Lightning has a _proper_ underwear collection now. 

It’s great because they all sort of mean separate things, and he can wear them according to what he wants, or what he wants to _give_ Doc. If he wants to get dragged over Doc’s lap and punished, he wears his oldest, thinnest, most _hole_ riddled pair. If he wants to be praised and examined and admired, he wears the tightest fitting, most clingy pair. If he wants to be groped in the bathroom at Flo’s or in the pits before a race, he wears a jockstrap. It’s _fantastic,_ to have so much _control_ over his own sexual destiny. 

But then, because Lightning the sort of person who gets restless with routine, he starts to crave a way to _lose_ control again. And _also,_ because Lightning is the sort of person who is prone to bouts of paralyzing insecurity where Doc is concerned, he gets _worried_ he’s not gonna keep Doc’s attention, that he’s becoming less interesting because he’s got so many pairs of underwear it would be _impractical_ to buy him more. Doc is a man who values practicality, and Lightning doesn't want to _stop_ being pretty to him _just_ because he doesn't technically _need_ anymore underwear in this exact moment. 

“I need more jockstraps,” Lightning lies, standing in front of the mirror craning his neck around to admire his own ass in the reflection. He’s wearing the valentines heart boxers under his jeans, pretending to not be satisfied with his appearance. “Since I started wearing them, anything that like, bunches or leaves a line under my pants annoys me.” 

“Oh really?” Doc says skeptically, coming up behind Lightning to survey his reflection. He cups his ass in his hands, thumbs over the minimal bunching under the denim. “It’s not _that_ noticeable. You’re turning into a princess.” 

“Well _yeah,_ sure. Yes I am. A full blown jockstrap princess, now,” Lightning gripes, turning around and hooking his arms around Doc’s neck, burying his face in the jut of his shoulder. “What’re you gonna do about it?” 

“Hm,” Doc says, pretending to not care, pretending to _think_ about it for a moment. Then, he gently shoves Lighting onto the bed, climbs onto him so he brackets his hips between his knees. His smile is so hot and sweet and possessive that Lightning _feels_ his skin blistering under it, his stomach plummeting because _god._ He had ulterior motives, he thinks, but he cannot remember what the fuck they were now, with Doc looking at him that way. “I guess I’ll take my princess to bed,” is what he says, the humiliating scrape of it barbing deep into Lightning’s flesh, dragging an involuntary whimper right out of him. “And buy him more jockstraps.” 

Then he kisses him blind, and Lightning is left with a muted, fizzling sense of triumph somewhere in his chest. 

A few days later, Doc gives him three new pairs. They're colorful and patterned, where his other pairs are solid, utilitarian. The _newness,_ the _garishness_ of it all makes him blush, makes the weird, nameless anxiety he’d been experiencing fade to nothingness. “Thank you,” he murmurs, settling against Doc’s chest on the couch wearing one of the new pairs, eyes drifting shut as Doc carefully finger combs through his hair. 

“Like them?” Doc asks, so quiet it almost gets lost to the thud of his heartbeat. 

“Yeah,” Lightning admits, turning to inhale from his shirt. “Love them. Love you.” 

It does the trick, for awhile.

6\. 

Lighting doesn’t even _realize_ he needs something until he _sees_ them, in a display at Target right across from the toothpaste aisle. 

They’re the exact same shade of baby pink as the Valentines boxers Doc got him, but probably twice as soft, _three_ times as translucent. They’re some sort of almost-mesh, topped in a sweet ring of lace around the hips.

They’re for _women,_ definitely. Like, they’re in the women’s underwear section. He’s well aware of this. Still, he stares, contemplating, _imagining,_ how they might feel against his skin. How the lace would scrape gently, fragile but still containing him, trapping his dick under that pink, delicate bow. 

It’s so _fucking_ embarrassing. His cheeks are _burning_ as he grabs shaving cream, some disposable razors, a bottle of mouthwash. But try as he might, he _cannot_ banish the image, or the sensory curiosity, out of his head. The thing is, he _definitely_ wants to wear them. Like, he can _tell_ from the building heat in his stomach, the way it’s gotten hard to swallow. The idea of Doc buying him something so pretty and so… _feminine_ has him fucking _sweating_ in arousal, in titillation, in _shame,_ which is weirdly tied up in the other two, for Lightning. The mere _thought_ of Doc seeing a pair of underwear like this and thinking about Lightning wearing them is so _much,_ but it’s also totally a fantasy. Doc is old fashioned, and extremely gay, and nowhere along that axis can Lightning locate something like women’s panties. 

So, it’s up to _him,_ if he wants to wear them. He’d have to _ask_ Doc to buy them for him and that, somehow, crosses the line from sexy-mortifying into just plain mortifying, and he doesn’t think he could do it. Ever. Unless he was both very horny and very drunk, and sometimes drunkenness cancels out his horniness and he just ends up asleep, so. This leaves him one remaining option, which is to grab the panties right off the shelf, and put them into his cart alongside the dental floss before he can talk himself out of it. 

“Those are for my girlfriend,” he tells the extremely bored looking teenaged cashier who probably wouldn't have even noticed if he hadn’t _said_ something. 

“Sure,” she says, brows raised as the scans them. 

His cheeks scalding all the way home, and he may or may not run a red light as he rolls back into Radiator Springs. 

The panties are burning a hole in his Target bag, beckoning to him with such intensity he can’t do _anything_ productive until he tries them on, sates the craving. Doc is in town helping Mater with something car related, so he has the bedroom to himself to do the deed, to initiate this secret ritual, see if they even _fit_ or if he just dropped six bucks on nothing. 

He shucks his jeans and black jockstrap, hands sweaty and trembling as he carefully detaches the tag from the delicate pink fabric. It feels like, _weirdly_ sacrilegious to touch something so pretty, and that subversion has his stomach dropping, his cock chubbing up against his thigh as he steps into the lace-lined leg holes and pulls them up his thighs. 

The fabric rides up into the crack of his ass in back, but the front fist snugly and easily over his cock, even as it’s getting hard. He supposes it _should_ be embarrassing he’s so small he can fit, without _effort,_ into women’s panties, but more than that it feels stomach-turning and thrilling and _hot,_ like he’s _made_ for this somehow, designed to be tied up in pink lace so Doc can unwrap him. 

He checks himself out in the mirror for a few minutes, eyes wide, face red, heart pounding. It looks _good, right,_ at the same time it’s so clearly _dirty_. The material is thin and transparent enough he can see _everything,_ the matted down curls of his pubes, the outline of his cock, the veins on the underside as is swells and twitches and strains against the fabric. And the lower curve of his ass cheeks _also_ looks really hot, the dusting of blonde hair looking like gold against the pink, like he really _is_ a princess, and _god, fuck,_ he wants to show Doc, he wants Doc to tell him he looks pretty like this, bend him over and have is way with him. 

They feel so nice and filthy he decides to put his jeans back on over them, buttoning and zipping the denim across his erection, tight enough it makes him whimper. Precum is beading up at the slit of his cockhead, and soon there will be a wet spot, the thin fabric _soaked through,_ so when Doc feels him for the first time his fingers might come back shiny. _Fuck._ Lightning rinses his face and hair in the sink with cold water, and pours himself a drink so he can soothe the anxious ache of waiting for Doc to come back home and find him like this, uncover the secret beneath his Levis. 

His mind is more addled by arousal than whiskey by the time Doc parks outside and lets himself in the front door, the sound of his keys jangling in his pocket setting Lightning’s _blood_ on fire, making his heart leap. “Hey,” he croaks from his chair, tracking Doc as he methodically kicks off his shoes by the door, unhooks his aviators from the neck of his shirt and sets them down. The way he moves is aways slow and careful, which is sometimes comforting, sometimes infuriating. It’s one of the infuriating times right now. “You gonna come over here?” Lightning asks, voice trembling. 

“Why?” Doc shoots back, narrowing his eyes as he collapses expectantly onto the couch, across from the chair Lightning’s sitting in. “You got something to tell me?” 

“I got—uh, got something to show you,” Lightning explains, throwing back more of his drink. “A present, I guess.” 

“Oh, you got _me_ something this time?” Doc murmurs, low and scraping, making electricity zing up Lightning’s spine, his eyes flutter closed. He takes a deep breath, and nods. 

“Sort of.” Then upon finishing his drink, he stands up and crosses the living room so he can straddle Doc on the couch, knees spread over his lap. 

Dod steadies him, hands braced wide and warm on his hips. He doesn't even look surprised as he smirks up at Lightning, licking his lips. “What is it then?” he asks, thumbing under the hem of his shirt, rubbing at his fever-hot skin.

Lightning kisses him hard, needing it so fucking bad he can’t _wait,_ pitching forward and licking into Doc’s mouth to taste him, the fire and the salt and the desert, groaning into the heat of it. Doc kisses back rough, palms up into his hair, down his back in firm, hungry, steadying strokes. Lightning tilts into it, grinds against him, and just when he’s about to pull back and unbutton his jeans and show Doc that delicate little bow sewn into the lace, Doc reaches for the zipper himself. 

Lightning’s heart flutters, breath catching in his throat as as Doc shoves his hand down the back of his jeans. 

His heart stops. Doc’s hand stops. He tears away, scrutinizing Lightning with his mouth open and scandalized, and for a split second, Lightning wonders if he made a _mistake._ If Doc is about two seconds away from erupting into a fit of laughter, or even expressing _disgust,_ or something. “What the _fuck,_ kid” he says before hooking his thumbs into the waist of his jeans and yanking them down a few inches so he can _look,_ gaze wide and blue and bewildered, like the whole ocean, the whole _sky._ “Jesus,” he breathes then, brushing his knuckles over the lace waistband like he can’t believe it. “What— _how_ did you even—“ then he cuts himself off with an awed, breathless laugh. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” 

“Do you—do you like this sort of thing?” Lightning asks, because he's still not _sure,_ if Doc is actually _into_ it or just shocked to silence. He’s _staring,_ that’s for sure, eyes locked on the way Lightning’s little cock is pushing against the stretched-tight fabric, creating a burning line in the soft sweet pink. Lightning squirms under the heat of his gaze, stomach roiling in anticipation. 

“I dunno, not specifically, not before _now,_ ” Doc murmurs, before his gaze flashes up to Lightning’s, blown wide and hot before he tugs him down by his hair, presses his cheek into his own shoulder. Lightning gratefully inhales, relief settling into his body, alongside that safe, _cared_ for feeling. “Or, I’ve never thought about it, not once in my life. M’old fashioned, you know me. But I like _you,_ fucking love every single thing about you, and I can’t— _God._ I love that you think of things like this, new ways to surprise me, dress up pretty for me,” he growls into Lightning’s ear, shifting his hand to cup Lightning’s cock through the pink lace. 

“Fuck,” Lightning whines, pressing into the solid heat of his palm, humping against it. “I want to be _so_ pretty for you, I don’t—don’t know _why,_ or what it is, but it feels so good. Just like. Want to be _good_ for you.” 

“You’re so good for me, angel, so perfect,” Doc breathes, rubbing him so the fabric shifts rough and delicious against the tender skin of his cock. “Fuck. Prettiest thing I've ever seen, can’t even _believe_ how lucky I am.” 

The drag of wet lace is so overwhelming, has Lightning so fucking _sensitive_ he can’t top making noise, whimpering as he fixes his mouth to Doc’s shoulder through his shirt and get his teeth in him. “M’all yours, every inch of me, promise,” he grinds out, gasping as Doc sneaks his other hand up into the leg of the panties, squeezes his ass under them, dips into his crack. 

“Yeah? Gonna ride me in these, pretty baby? Come sitting on my cock?” Doc growls, making the whole universe phase out in a momentary curtain of static. 

“Oh _fuck,”_ Lighting gasps, the words wrenching out wet and tattered as he bucks his hips. “Yeah, lemme—” he gets up for as long as it takes to kick his way out of the jeans trapped around his thighs, watching with wide eyes and a flooded mouth as Doc unbuckles his pants and gets his own half-hard cock out, stroking it with his gaze fixed unabashedly on Lightning, so blue it stings. Lightning tears his shirt over his head and then, in nothing but the lacy pink underwear, climbs back into Doc’s lap. 

He’s feeling so slutty and hot it’s like being _high,_ his back arched deeply, thighs spread wide as he humps against Doc, mouth wet and open all over his neck. “Want me like this, Daddy?” he whispers, feeling Doc’s hand stutter on his cock, knuckles pausing their rhythmic brush against Lightning’s ass at the word. It’s not the first time he's said it, but it _might_ be the first time he’s said it without a dick in his ass, without his mind fucked halfway to the moon and back. They’ve never really _talked_ about it, but every time it’s slipped out Doc gets pupil-dark and possessive and desperate, losing himself a little in this way that would be scary if Lightning didn’t _need_ to be fucked like fucking is breathing. He can _feel_ Doc responding to it, one hand climbing to his hip, gripping him there, lace dimpling under the fierce crush of his palm. 

“God, yeah, exactly like this,” he mumbles, letting go of his own cock and lifting his hips so his shaft nudges against the seat of Lightning’s panties, aligning it with the crack. “Rub yourself on Daddy’s cock, baby. Show me how those pretty things feel.” 

Lightning does as he’s told, circling his hips in clumsy, jerky motions because he’s _drunk_ with want, with the single-minded drive to be _fucked,_ to be filled. He gets like this sometimes, when he’s so hungry for it he doesn’t remember how to be coy, how to be sexy. Just how to be _desperate,_ which Doc, Luckily, thinks _is_ sexy. “Like this?” he chokes out, rocking back, _loving_ the hot, heavy drag against his ass. 

“Yeah baby, just like that,” Doc hisses, palm steady on the concave dip of his back. “Feel so good, _look_ so good, putting it all over me. Such a dirty boy.” 

“Want your cock in me,” Lightning pleads, pressing his brow into Doc’s shoulder as an anchor-point and gasping as his hole flutters, the sensation of lace hauntingly soft, un _bearably_ rough. “Please.” 

Doc makes a low, wordless sound in his throat as he tugs the ass of the panties to the side, and they’re so elastic they shift easily, exposing Lightning so he can push his fingers into the sweat damp crease, rubbing over him where he’s neediest. Just _that,_ Doc’s blunt warm finger tips teasing over his hole, drives him fucking crazy, makes his heart pick up in his chest and his breath come out in a sob. “Fuck, so ready already,” Doc mumbles, teasing without actually pushing in. “Can feel you, just _dying_ to open up for me. Bet you wore these under your Levis for awhile, thinking about this, wishing your daddy was playing with your hole.” 

“Fuck, mhm, put them on as soon as I got home and waited for you,” Lightning confesses, pushing back against the dry, maddening pressure. “Please, Daddy, want your cock, _fuck,_ ” he groans, un-cementing his hand where it’s pressed into the leather couch and reaching between his own spread thighs to _feel_ Doc where he’s thick and throbbing, the skin so fucking _hot_ it makes him gasp.

Doc kisses him hard, cursing as he twists around and fumbles with the end-table next to the couch. They’ve fucked here enough times Lightning got tired of having to _wait_ for Doc to get lube from the bedroom, since he _refuses_ to fuck him without it no matter how hard he begs. So, he bought an extra bottle to keep remote drawer, which has come in perfectly handy on a variety of occasions. Doc finally grabs it, uncaps it, an squeezes a generous amount into his palm. Lightning’s eyes get hazy with desire as he watches his fingers get slick and shiny before he shifts to touch himself. “Look at you,” Doc breathes, staring down at Lightning’s cock, licking his lips. “Making that lace all wet, so fucking hard and perfect for me.” 

“All for you,” Lightning promises, turning his head to kiss up Doc’s neck, the side of his face, loving the clean, spicy smell of his cologne-sweat, the labored huffs of his breath as he lubes up his cock. “I get hard dressing up for you, from— _fuck,_ thinking about you looking at me, wanting me so bad you just take me.” 

“Well, c’mere, baby, lemme feel,” Doc murmurs, smoothing lube-slick fingers into his crack, over his hole while he holds the ass of the panties to the side again. The leg-hole is getting stretched out, delicate fabric at first cutting into Lightning’s skin until Doc deliberately yanks it hard enough something snaps. Lighting yelps, stomach dropping, _so_ overwhelmed with the idea of Doc manhandling him until seams rip, putting him where he wants him. “Shh, here,” Doc murmurs, rubbing lube all over Lightning’s greedy hole, before pushing a finger past his rim. “Sit on it,” he orders, and Lighting does, arching his back and lengthening his spine so he can sink onto the perfect, hot-thick burn of Doc’s finger. 

“Jesus,” he groans, letting his head fall back, hair sticking to his brow in a sheen of perspiration.

Nothing, _fucking nothing_ feels better than this. Doc’s fingers, Doc’s tongue, his cock. It doesn’t _matter_ what part of him as long as Lightning’s getting opened up, split, _filled. “_ Daddy,” he whines, whimpering as Doc works another finger into him, making his cock flex pitifully in its cage of pink lace. “More.” 

Doc hums gently, pumping his fingers in and out, making Lighting’s legs tremble and shake until he's satisfied and pulls out slow and careful. “Give me that ass, angel.” he says then, holding the panties to the side, grip tight and bruising. Then he’s letting go of his cock to cuff Lightning on the back of the neck and pull him into a kiss, everything wet, hungry, dizzying. 

Lightning’s really good at this part. He twists, reaches around to take Doc in hand and hold him steady while he aligns himself, knowing the angle with a bone-deep certainty because he's spent _many_ hours of dedicated research research figuring it out. It only takes one failed, overeager attempt before he gets it right and sinks down, the blunt crown breaching him in a delicious ache. “Daddy,” he keens into their kiss, mouth open and panting right against the cut of Doc’s jaw. “You’re so _big.”_ He whines it like they both don’t know he _lives_ to be broken open. 

“Too big for my baby boy?” Doc mumbles, taking the bait, rocking up gently so he slides in another inch or so, forcing out a gasp. “ Maybe I should pull out, just give you my tongue. If you can’t take my cock.” 

“ _Fuck,_ no, no,” Lightning chokes out, thighs quaking as he sits down in a jerky tremble, fully sheathing Doc inside his body with a single motion. Doc makes a sound that hooks _deep_ into Lightning’s gut, paralyzing him with a wave of awe. _He_ did that, _he_ gets to make this gorgeous old man groan sudden and involuntary, gets to _surprise him,_ gets to drive him crazy. It’s been two years and _still,_ that hasn’t gotten old. “Feel good?” He asks, voice choppy and full of breath. He lifts a few inches before settling back down, rocking his hips. His cock is throbbing in the panties, red and slick and leaking, the crown _obscenely_ shiny where it’s pressed against shimmering pink. 

“Heaven, baby, you feel like heaven. Can’t even believe it,” Doc mumbles out, rubbing his palms up Lightning’s sides, urging him to ride him, controlling his speed. Once it’s exactly what he wants he moves his hands up into the sweaty ruin of Lighting’s hair to make fists and pull, then down to his shoulders to drag him forward so he can kiss him hard and messy, fuck his tongue into the gasping hungry hole of his mouth. 

Lightning feels drunk on the stretching burn, the singular, tremendous sensation of being fucked, touched, adored. But on top of all that, he’s positively _drowning_ in a more extreme version of whatever it is he feels when Doc buys him things, _takes care_ of him. It’s like being _surrounded,_ like sinking beneath a vast black wave and knowing no matter how much it feels like he can’t breathe, Doc _has him,_ will always have him. His orgasm is building slow and steady in his gut and he leans into it, palms down Doc’s forearm to try and get his hand on his cock. “Touch me?” he begs, bouncing up and town, hamstrings taut and aching with the exertion. “Fuck, just— _god,_ feels so good. Want to come.” 

“That’s it, baby, ride it. So tight,” Doc chokes out, one hand pressed wide and biting over Lightning’s working thigh, the other moving to cover his cock, rubbing it through the lace. “Love how you just _fit_ in here, like they were made for you.” 

That really _does_ it for Lightning, drives a stake sharp and searing into his stomach as he twists down onto Doc, hole fluttering hungrily around him. “M’close, keep talking about it, keep—telling me I’m pretty,” he huffs out, working his hips faster, sweat beading on his forehead. 

“So fucking _gorgeous,_ spread out on my lap, sitting on Daddy’s cock in those pretty underwear,” Doc tells him, getting his hand under the elastic to touch him unobstructed at long last, working him in short, firm strokes. “Such a perfect pretty little cock. You gonna mess up that lace, angel? Gonna— _fuck,_ Lightning, that’s it, come for me baby,” he chokes as Lightning collapses and whines and loses it all over his fist, ass clenching, milking him. 

He hasn't even properly finished, still gasping and trembling as Doc lets go of his cock in favor of grabbing his hips, holding him down while he pistons up into him, fucking his used hole hard until he comes with a groan. The hot sudden gush of it makes Lightning cry out, clutch his shoulders like he’s drowning out in the middle of a storming ocean, insides painted in white. He _loves_ when Doc comes in him, makes him _cry_ half the time, but this time it feels _especially_ absolving since it’s not just into his body, but into the now ruined panties, which are still clinging to him in a stretched out, come-sticky mess. 

His brain is buzzing, his heart thudding in a desperate tattoo while Doc traces idle patterns all over his sweaty back. It feels like a long time before he remembers how to talk, and the first thing he can even think so say is “Ow,” because Doc is still _in him,_ insistent and thick, spreading him open. 

“What?” Doc murmurs, carding a hand through his messy hair. 

“Just. Your cock. It’s _big,_ that’s not just dirty talk,” Lightning mumbles against his shoulder, peeling away just enough to kiss him, soft but still spit-messy, hungry licks between gales of breath. “And m’still sitting on it.” 

“Get off, then,” Doc tells him, reaching up and thumbing roughly over a nipple. “You’re gorgeous,” he says then, shaking his head as Lightning pulls away, eyes sweeping all over his flushed face, his heaving chest. “Also not just bedroom talk. God’s truth.” 

Lightning gets all soft and fluttery feeling at that, presses his brow to Doc’s so he doesn't pass out, the blue of his eyes like something he could fall into, get swept away by. “M’so fucking lucky,” he mumbles before stealing a kiss and pulling away, sucking in a messy, grateful breath. “That you didn’t like. Freak out, when you saw the underwear. In hindsight that was like, sort of a gamble.” 

“Baby,” Doc murmurs, tucking Lighting’s spent cock back into the panties. “S’never a gamble with me.” 

Lightning’s cheeks get hot, his whole body suddenly too shaky and overwhelmed to move, he’s so bowled over by being in love. He just. He didn’t know it would _be_ like this, this condition of the whole body, of the _soul,_ unrelenting for multiple years. He sniffs back tears, hides his face in the collar of Doc’s shirt, heart speeding. 

Doc takes pity on him, holds him steady while he shifts and slides out in a mess of come and lube. “Thank you,” Lightning murmurs, reaching back with a shaky hand to adjust the ass of the panties so nothing leaks out of him and onto the couch. “Also, guess these are officially ruined now,” he observes, all that delicate fabric stained and stretched out beyond recognition.

Doc kisses his cheek, pets down his back. “Guess I’ll just ave to buy you another pair,” he says, and Lightning is glad his face is already hidden, because there’s something so raw about his smile, he doesn't feel like anything but Doc’s pulse should witness such a thing. 

—-


End file.
